


Adam, but Eve

by JennyTan



Series: Our Divided World [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anarchy, Dystopian, Equality, Eugenics, Extremism, Future Fic, Gender, Globalwarming, Multi, NewWorld, Overpopulation, Rebels, Science Fiction, worldwar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennyTan/pseuds/JennyTan
Summary: 'The world had been Divided for more than a year, and India Reid was still living at home...'The world has been cut in half - 'Divided'. Now men live on one side, and women live on the other. This is the solution to overpopulation. This is the new world.But when an Iesnian baby boy is abandoned on the Eprean side of the Fence, and the granddaughter of the great Priest Gabriel himself receives a shocking revelation, the Divide may turn out to be less of a 'Divide', after all.Rebellions are rising, Priest Gabriel's violent beliefs are decimating the population, and now war is brewing as the rebels prepare their most destructive raid yet.This is the new world.This is the Divide.
Series: Our Divided World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128062





	1. Our Future

**prologue: January ’** **75**

The world had been Divided for more than a year, and India Reid was still living at home.

She was one of the lucky ones, really. A lot of women had been forced to jump ship and move out when the first bricks appeared - men, too, but they didn't talk about the men. India had heard of women fleeing across the border, with cupboards, toilets, wardrobes, suitcases, goddamn kitchen sinks strapped to their backs, with their daughters running behind them, with armfuls of bedclothes and tin cans - fleeing for their lives.

But not India.

India had been born on the right side - the _good_ side, she reminded herself. Instead, it was her dad and uncle and grandfather who'd moved out seventeen months ago.

India had stayed at home.

And India still lived at home. In fact, she'd lived at home for more than thirty years now (though they didn't talk about that, either).

But for the first time since the world had Divided, India wouldn’t be living at home by herself.

India put her hands on her belly, already swelling beneath her blouse. Closed her eyes. She could imagine the baby inside her: small and wrinkled, barely eighteen weeks old - which meant eighteen weeks since India had become an Eve, eighteen weeks since she’d addressed that sea of upturned, glowing faces, _do your best, the world needs you, you're our future_ \- eighteen weeks since _him_.

Hardly bigger than a bell pepper. A baby girl.

Because she had to be a girl.

Because India wouldn't believe that she couldn't be a girl.

"Next stop, Kings Avenue."

India's eyes shot open.

The bus had ground to a halt, idling in front of the bus stop; like all vehicles nowadays, the bus was electric, the engine silent - no pollution, no Sin. India hauled herself painstakingly out of her seat, one arm protecting her belly. A few of the passengers turned around as she began to lumber down the aisle, and there was a sudden rush to move bags and coats, to let her get past - even though they were in front of her, so shouldn't they get off the bus first, India wondered, wasn't that polite?

But this was more than about being polite, India knew. She could see the respect in their eyes - and the recognition.

And the envy.

_She's India Reid. She's Priest Gabriel's daughter. She's the First Eve._

And it was under her father's instruction that India took this bus: a forty-five minute journey from the coast all the way down to Kings Avenue station. He could have asked the helicopter to drop her right outside Kings Avenue if he'd wanted to, but where was the excitement in that? Instead, Priest Gabriel had ordered her to get off the helicopter as soon as it reached the coastline and catch the nearest bus into town; that way, even while she was leaving Eprea he could make sure she was still seen by the Epreans, _recognised_ by the Epreans - a living, breathing reminder of what they could have, what they could achieve, if only they pledged their lives to Priest Gabriel.

"Thanks," India muttered, sucking her breath in as she squeezed past the driver's box.

"Don't mention it, sweetheart," one lady said, smiling up at India. _Respect. Recognition._ "And good luck!"

"Thank you," India said again. But she knew she wouldn't need it.

She was the First Eve. Priest Gabriel’s daughter. The future of the world.

She had everything.

Almost everything.

Because if the baby wasn't a girl -

If the baby was a _boy_ -

Then the respect, the recognition, the envy, wouldn't matter to India.

She would still be the First Eve, of course. People would still jump out of their seats to make way for her; they would still treat her like a precious gold artefact, like she was priceless, rare, expensive. And they would still call her _sweetheart_ , wish her luck with respect and recognition - love her openly, unreservedly, enviously. But none of it would matter. Not to India.

Because if the baby was a boy, then India would be alone again. And if that happened - if the baby was a boy - if, in two and a half hours' time, they ran their ultrasound machine over her stomach and pronounced those fateful words - if she was _alone_ \- then all the gold in the world wouldn't be enough to fill the hole in India's heart.


	2. The Tree

"I'm not paranoid."

Logan speared another sprig of broccoli, pointedly ignoring her wife.

"I'm  _ not_," Aileen repeated. She was peering into the gloomy, stormy darkness outside their kitchen window. A flash of lightning lit up her blonde hair; Aileen was only twenty-nine, but Logan could count her grey hairs. She was frowning. "I'm...I'm just..."

"What?"

"Well - don't you think I've got the right to be paranoid?"

Logan put down her fork.

Aileen was facing her now, her frown deeper, more desperate. "Don't you think we  _ both _ do?"

"Aileen..."

"I mean, this is their kind of night. Isn't it? What with the - the storm," she pointed clumsily at the window, "and...everything. If they were going to...surely tonight... Wouldn't they?"

Logan put down her knife, too. Got up slowly from the table, moved across to her. Then, without speaking - without needing to speak - Logan took her into her arms, and just held her; not because Aileen was her wife, and that was what wives did, but because Aileen was her best friend. And that was what best friends did. 

"It's barely been a year," Logan reminded her gently. "What can they possibly have done in a year, Aily, hmm?"

"I don't know," Aileen whispered. She pressed her face into Logan's shoulder. "I don't know."

Outside, thunder crashed. Another streak of lightning illuminated the kitchen: the battered, peeling walls, the damp stains on the ceiling, the cracked linoleum, the rusted old stove. Seventeen months' work, and this was all they could afford.

This wasn't Iesnia. They weren't men. 

They had to make do.

Aileen slowly detached herself from Logan's arms. Logan saw her wipe her eyes surreptitiously on the sleeve of her cardigan. She took a deep breath. "Right," she said, "right, well - "

And then it happened.

A great creaking, screaming, tearing sound outside the kitchen window. Like something being ripped open; like the cry of a dying animal, Logan thought.

"What the - "

Aileen was back at the window in an instant, pressing her face to the glass, squinting. "Logan - Logan, look - "

"What is it?" Logan pushed in beside her, frantically scanning the shadowy garden. 

It was the front garden they could see: a short strip of mangy grass embedded with rotting violas. The violas were the only flowers that would grow in their garden; the whole world had become like a barren wasteland over the last few decades, as the effects of global warming caused the earth to crack, destroying the plants and toppling whole cities. But while the Iesnians had the money to start rebuilding their cities, the Epreans weren't so lucky, Logan thought. Once again, they had to make do. With mangy grass and rotting violas.

She blinked and refocused her eyes. The street beyond their garden curved in a shallow crescent; in the centre was a roundabout, patchy and overgrown, and in the centre of the roundabout -

"The tree," Aileen whispered. "Oh, God, Logan, it's the tree."

The tree had been there for as long as they'd lived at 13 Crescent Walk. It was an ancient, melancholic weeping willow tree, bent over like an old man; and, on windy nights, it moaned and groaned like an old man, too. The tree had been planted by the Cherubim - uprooted and evicted and dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the roundabout. A mandatory thing - another of their confounded  reforms , Logan reflected bitterly. Every housing estate had to have a tree: a big tree, with big branches and a big, thick trunk. The Tree of Knowledge in miniature, according to the Cherubim - planted to remind them of their Sins.  _ This is why the world is Divided. This is why  _ you are _ Divided. _

Except now the reminder of their Sins lay in two pieces. One piece on the roundabout, one piece on the road. The trunk had snapped cleanly in half, Logan could see - like it was no more than a stick, snapped by a small child.

She pressed her face back to the window. 

Already neighbours were spilling out of their houses, heedless of the rain; Logan recognised Mrs Chandry of number 4, a bustling woman who had lived on the estate before the Divide. She was bending over the tree, her hand covering her mouth; Logan couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying.

"Come on." Aileen grabbed her hand, and Logan - knowing Aileen, and so knowing any kind of resistance would be futile - let herself be dragged towards the front door.

Outside, the gale was still howling, cold wind and rain whipping straight into their faces. They were soaked in seconds, but Aileen didn't seem to care; she kept tugging on Logan's hand like an excitable school child, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead, her blue eyes shining.

"Mrs Kennedy!" A figure materialised through the rain; squinting, Logan recognised their next-door neighbour, Miss Kora - her white face almost entirely hidden by the hood of her spotted pink anorak. "And Mrs Kennedy!"

Logan saw Aileen's mouth tighten, and winced inwardly. No one ever called Aileen by  _ her _ surname - well, her husband's surname, her pre-Divide surname. But everyone called Aileen by Logan's surname, "Kennedy," - and every time,  that look  would appear on Aileen's face: her mouth would tighten, her lips would purse, and Logan would have to stop herself running full tilt in the opposite direction with her hands over her ears.

Logan knew it was nothing personal - there was nothing personal about potluck. Besides, Kennedy was Logan's maiden name, a name she hadn't used for nearly five years. And then, the morning after the Divide, they had found a letter wedged in their rusty letterbox:  _ To Mrs & Mrs Kennedy.  _

The letter had been from the Cherubim.

So now they were Mrs and Mrs Kennedy. 

And now Logan had become very good at stopping herself running full tilt in the opposite direction with her hands over her ears.

"Miss Kora." Logan forced a smile. "Lovely weather, isn't it?"

"Absolutely ghastly!" Miss Kora always talked like that - like she'd jumped straight out of a 20th century soap opera. Logan felt sorry for her; it couldn't be easy, acting like you were some free-spirited young lady, surrounded by wealthy suitors. Now, in the 24th century, there was no such thing as a wealthy suitor. Or a free-spirited young lady.

"What happened?" she asked Miss Kora. "Did the storm - "

"It just blew it down, Mrs Kennedy!" Miss Kora's eyes were very wide, her lip quivering. "It just blew our darling tree right down!" 

Logan frowned. Now that she was outside, she could see the break wasn't so clean; branches and shards of bark littered the grass, which the rain had turned into a sea of muddy brown mulch. She took a deep breath, hiking up the hem of her skirt. Aileen had already run on ahead: a barely-visible figure clambering over the remains of the tree's trunk. Logan hopped a mud-splattered tree root and followed her.

"There's nothing we can do," Miss Kora said, hurrying after Logan, "is there? Miss Payne is calling up the Cherubs; she went off about ten minutes ago, but - "

Logan felt her eyebrows wing up.  _Cherubs_ . That was the slang term for the Cherubim. Logan had never associated Miss Kora with slang - such language was far too modern and 'ghastly'.

"- but surely it's broken?" Miss Kora prattled on, oblivious. "It's irreparable, it must be - just look at it!"

"She's right." Logan had caught up to Aileen now. Her wife was standing with her hands on her hips, eyeing the smashed willow. Her face was grim - and grim it would have to be, Logan thought, for Aileen to agree with Miss Kora. "It's dead. The roots have all snapped - well, most of them, anyway. Enough of them." She nodded at the wreckage. "The tree's dead."

Logan looked at her. "So what now?”

Aileen was silent for a moment. Logan watched the rain slide off her hair, down her cheeks. Then she said, "We wait."

Miss Kora blinked. " _ Wait? _ "

"Yes. We wait for the Cherubs to do something. And if they don't do something - well, it was their tree to begin with, wasn't it? If you ask me" - and now Aileen turned and looked at Logan, and her eyes were flashing - "we're better off without it. Good riddance to bad rubbish.  _ Pah _ ."

Logan heard Miss Kora's sharp intake of breath. She bit her lip, wincing inwardly. Looked away. 

Even before the Divide, Aileen March had been the one of the most opinionated people Logan had ever met. But now, after the Divide, being opinionated was a dangerous thing, a Sinful thing. Unless you shared the opinions of the Cherubim - the  _ right _ opinions. But Logan knew Aileen would never share the opinions of the Cherubim. 

It was one of the things Logan loved about her.

She took hold of Aileen's arm. "Then it's a good thing people don't ask you, isn't it? Come on - let's get back inside." Her voice was light - purposely light, like Aileen had been telling a joke. But she tugged firmly on Aileen's arm, pulling her away from the remains of the tree.

To her relief, Aileen didn't protest. She let Logan lead her back across the road, side-stepping broken tree branches - leaving Miss Kora, wide-eyed and speechless, gaping after them in her hooded pink anorak.

They had almost reached the front door when Aileen stopped.

"Logan!"

Logan stopped, too - resigned, but unsurprised. She waited with her head down, half-squinting, her fists clenched in her pockets. "What?"

"Logan - I heard something!" 

Logan took a deep breath. 

"Did you - I heard it again! There!" 

Aileen had run back down the path, but now she was facing in the opposite direction, peering through the rain. She beckoned to Logan over her shoulder. "Can you hear it?"

Reluctantly, Logan raised her head. 

"Hear what?"

"That - that _noise_ \- Come here!"

"Aileen - "

"I'm serious, Logan! It sounds - it sounds like crying. Like a baby - crying."

Logan's heart plummeted.

_ Like a baby - crying. _

_ A baby. _

For a long time, Logan didn't move. She stood there, on the pavement, her eyes squeezed shut - like she was praying. 

Like she still had any faith in prayer.

They'd been lucky so far, Logan thought. Apparently it happened to a lot of mothers; it wasn't unusual. But Logan had told herself that Aileen wasn't like a lot of mothers. That losing her baby wouldn't change her - that she wouldn't start hearing voices, baby voices, baby voices  _ crying _ -

And then she heard it, too.

A keening, wailing, whimpering sound. 

A baby. Crying.

It was muffled by the rain - almost completely muffled - Logan had to strain to hear it - but she  _ could _ hear it. She rushed back down the front garden, through the gate, onto the road. Aileen was waiting for her, and they stood there together, panting, straining,  _ listening _ \- 

"There!" Aileen grabbed her arm. "That way!"

"Yes," Logan said, " _ yes _ ."

And then they were running - both running, both clutching each other, sweaty hands interlinked. The crying was getting louder. It was coming from somewhere nearby, Logan thought. She could almost -

"Wait."

Aileen tightened her grip on Logan's hand, bringing them to a halt. 

They had stopped just inside the copse of trees that surrounded Crescent Walk. It was very dark; Logan could barely see two feet in front of her. Neither could Aileen. She moved forwards, still holding Logan's hand. Waiting. Listening. 

And then -

" _ Waaaah! _ "

Aileen dived forwards, Logan pelting after her. 

They were running blind now, branches whipping their faces. And the rain was still cascading off the canopy above them - soaking their cardigans, the backs of their necks - and the baby was still crying and crying -

"We're coming," Logan whispered. "We're coming."

They crashed through the trees, sliding in the leaf mulch, mud splattering their shoes and tights. Finally they reached a small clearing, somewhere near the middle of the copse, and Aileen slowed down - bending over with her hands on her knees, her shoulders heaving, nursing a stitch in her side. And Logan found herself bending over next to her, trying to catch her breath, shaking with fear and exhaustion. Raindrops streamed down her face. Like tears. "The baby," she whispered. She straightened up again, ignoring the pain in her legs. "Aileen, we have to - "

"Logan." Aileen wasn't looking at her. She was facing away from Logan, looking at something Logan couldn't see.

Her stomach clenching, Logan followed Aileen's gaze - and caught her breath.

The baby lay between the roots of a tree. 

It was swaddled in a dirty-looking blanket - a weeny thing, pink and puckered. Too weeny for all that noise it had been making, Logan thought. 

She crept forward. Peered down.

Two luminescent green eyes peered back at her. 

Logan started, jumping backwards and nearly slipping in a sticky patch of mud. She felt a hot rush of embarrassment. There was nothing to be scared of. This was a  _ baby _ , for God's -

Oh, God. 

A baby.

And small, but not that small, she realised now as she stared down at it. For one thing, it already had hair: curl after wavy brown curl framing its chubby baby cheeks. Clearly it hadn't been out here long - whoever it was.  _ Whosever _ it was.

Logan crouched down, very slowly. Pulled back a corner of the baby's blanket.

"Hello," she whispered.


	3. The Crossing

India was used to the Crossing by now.

She stood in front of the polished marble reception desk, her ID card clutched in her hand. Only the Cherubim got the marble desk - the rest of the Migrators were directed through the old aeroplane hangers and converted warehouses further down Kings Avenue. And down every other avenue this side of the Fence, India reflected. They had half the population to move, after all.

The Migrators didn't get IDs, either. They didn't need them. Crossing was Crossing - there was no going back.

The Migrators received paperwork instead - assigning them a home, listing available job vacancies and registering them as official citizens in their new state. Iesnia, if they were male. Eprea, if they were female.

"Your card, please, ma'am." The woman behind the reception desk held out her hand. India could see her fingers trembling. _Ma'am_.

The ID check was a formality. Everyone knew India Reid. She was easy to recognise - a thirty-something-year-old lady with dark hair and a swollen stomach.

You couldn't _not_ be recognised when you were the only - legally - pregnant woman on Planet Earth.

Sure enough, the woman barely glanced at her photo before waving her through. India tucked the ID card back into her jacket pocket and approached the large silver metal detector behind the reception desk - the only 'old-fashioned' feature of the new ETram station. The metal detectors had belonged to the old airports, before the Divide - before they'd been uprooted and transplanted by the Cherubim when Migration first began. The scanner didn't bleep. India kept walking.

The Crossing Gate on Kings Avenue led directly into what used to be the United Kingdom. It was the Crossing place used by the Cherubim, because it also led directly into Eden; all the other Crossing places were temporary - once the Migrators had Migrated, all non-Cherubim movement across the Fence would be outlawed, and the rest of the ETram stations would be knocked down and wiped off the map. Eden itself was central to the UK, where it had been founded, but India knew there were smaller government branches in other countries, too. It had completely overtaken old London, which now resembled the hub of a very large wheel: ElekrtaTram lines fed into it from all over Iesnia: France (via the old EuroStar), Scotland, Wales, Ireland - and there were more lines under construction, reaching out over the English Channel, into Europe. They'd been around for nearly half a century before the Divide, but they'd risen in popularity during Priest Gabriel's rule. In fact, soon there would be enough of them to eradicate the aeroplanes, which were also used by the Migrators - picking them up on one side of the Fence and dumping them on the other side, in either Iesnia or Eprea. But, as Priest Gabriel claimed, the aeroplanes were a Cherubim privilege _only_. If not for the necessity of Migration, India was sure he would've eradicated the planes a long time ago.

ElektraTrams (or 'ETrams' as everyone called them) had since become Priest Gabriel's new mode of transport. But the ETrams that transported people under the Fence - which had ETram stations dotted here and there along it like a rash - were also a strictly Cherubim privilege. These Trams had become known as the CETrams (the Cherubim's ElekrtaTrams), and the one permanent CETram line after Migration would be the line that ran to and from Eden - the line India was queuing for now. The journey took less than two hours; all ETrams travelled at the speed of sound, much faster than any of the old trains or tubes.

India knew she'd only be able to do this journey a few more times. After all, she was the First Eve, carrying the first baby, the first Generational. She was priceless.

She could make the journey now, however - in fact, Priest Gabriel insisted upon it. He wanted to be there for every scan, he'd told her, every check-up, every _everything_. Even if it meant leaving Eden - even if it meant Crossing the Fence. And he would, when the journey became too dangerous. He'd do it for her. He'd do it for the baby.

India followed the rest of the commuters onto the Tram. They were all Cherubim, all women. _Epreans_ , India reminded herself.

The CETrams were busiest on this side of the Fence. Eden was already in Iesnia, so for the men - the _Iesnians_ \- that meant no CETrams, no ID checks, no Crossing. India guessed it made sense - Priest Gabriel had built the Fence and he was an Iesnian, so why shouldn't his new government be in Iesnia?

He had another reason, too - a reason which invoked a passage in the Bible, Priest Gabriel's sacred text: 'To the woman He said, "I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labour you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you."'

Women had Sinned, according to Priest Gabriel. According to God.

And now women had to pay the price.

They could only find salvation if they became an Eve - a carrier of the new generation. The face of the future.

 _I have Sinned,_ India reminded herself.

But then she put her hand over her stomach - over the baby - her baby.

And as she sat there, with her eyes closed, India Reid smiled. _I have Sinned._

*

The journey took one and half hours.

By the time the Tram finally pulled into the station, India was hot, sticky, and probably smelly, too. But even that didn't save her from the Epreans' goggling eyes, hungrily drinking her in across the carriage - devouring her whole.

The second she stepped off the Tram, she was shuffled down an exit tunnel by Eprean Angels, and then onto the first Eprean bus to Eden's Eprean hospital.

The Angels knew who she was, so they knew where she was going. One of them gave her arm a reassuring squeeze as she guided her towards the bus stop. India looked down, surprised, and caught the Angel's eyes. They were dark, shadowed - the eyes of a woman, an Eprean, a Sinner. She travelled that laborious Tram journey every day - _twice_ every day, because Epreans weren't allowed to sleep in Iesnia. The Angel smiled. "After you, ma'am."

India guessed they had been sent by Priest Gabriel; the Angels followed her onto the bus - parking themselves in the aisle next to India’s seat like a pair of silver-suited bodyguards. When they reached the hospital, they led her off the bus and through the automatic doors; and, when they reached the scanning room, they positioned themselves on either side of the door, casually resting their hands on their rifles. Standing guard.

Priest Gabriel was waiting for her inside the scanning room.

He stood by the bed, wearing a perfectly pressed grey suit, white cotton shirt, grey slacks. It was the suit Priest Gabriel always wore - India had never seen him take it off. Priest Gabriel projected consistency; his mission was to eradicate the chaos of the world, he claimed, the chaos that had led to an exploding population, the breaking up of the continents, the Divide. The overhead lighting reflected the silver in her father's stubbled hair, though somehow there was still a youthfulness about him - his skin was dark and unlined and unwrinkled, the colour of tree bark. His eyes were dark, too, but they had a brightness India always found disconcerting - like he could pick her apart, see into her soul. Lay her bare.

He smiled when he saw her. Held out his hand - a gesture of peace? His teeth were very white.

 _This is the man who built the Fence,_ India thought as she arranged herself on the pillows. _This is the man who split the world in half, who created the Fence and the ETrams and the Divide - and me._

"How was the journey?" Priest Gabriel had moved to her side; India could smell his pine-scented aftershave, sickly sweet. "Not too busy, I hope?"

"The usual." Cramped. Sweaty. Awkward. Torturous.

"Only a few more weeks," Priest Gabriel said. There was a grimace behind his smile.

India smiled back. _Only a few more weeks._

"Ready?"

The nurse had moved to India's other side. India looked up at her; she was a middle-aged woman with pasty skin and a round, smiling face. Behind her, India could see the screen where the scan of her womb would come to life, pixel by pixel, as the nurse ran the transducer over her stomach.

Was she ready? Ready to find out the gender of her baby - the first Generational - Priest Gabriel's first grandchild?

Read to find out the answer to the question that had plagued her incessantly for eighteen weeks: would this baby be hers - hers to keep, to cherish, to nurture, to _love_ \- or would it be snatched away from her the second she bore it, whipped into an ETram and rushed under the Fence to Iesnia, to Priest Gabriel - to _him_?

India took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

*

"Logan? Logan, what's wrong?"

Aileen was crouching next to her, shaking her shoulder.

Logan's mouth moved, but no sound, no words, came out. She was staring at the baby, lying in her arms - shivering and snivelling and naked.

"It's - it's - "

*

The doctor put down the transducer and smiled at India. "It's a girl."

*

Logan gazed into the baby's upturned face, its huge, tear-filled, green eyes.

"It's a boy."


End file.
